Strange Things
by Graveyard of Hearts
Summary: Strange is a word usually thrown around when humanity doesn't understand what it is they are dealing with. They don't want to understand a person who is different from them, so they've become labeled. Strange. Abnormal. Freakish. Perhaps unique should be considered. Who knows: a person's abnormality just may save your world. LxFOC.
1. Prologue

Her toes curled deep within her covers, digging at the fabric while her back rested against the cushioned headboard. It was late, the rain pattering on the roof and the window, and all the other orphans were most likely sound asleep. She couldn't sleep. She hasn't been able to since the nightmares started. What kind of nightmares, I hear you asking.

I couldn't tell you right off the bat. It would take a great deal of effort to piece together the random images that plague her sleeping mind. I can assure you, they are most unpleasant. Especially for a ten-year-old little girl. A little girl who tried her best to lock away images, most notably, of bodies, all shapes and sizes and colors, twisted and mangled. Bruised. Broken. Bloodied. Torn apart.

Blood splattered on the walls, guts and brain matter slowly dripping onto the floor.

Charred bodies, their blacked faces stained with the jellies of their eyes, pouring from now empty sockets like tears.

They were enough to turn even the strongest of stomachs.

So, she never slept. At least, not until her small body decided it couldn't handle the stress and exhaustion she forced it to go through. Then she slept. A restless sleep that lasted not nearly long enough. At least it kept her from her dreams.

A sense of inescapable exhaustion, one that was bound to be incredibly unhealthy, was a small price to pay if it meant she could keep whatever shred of sanity she had left.

These nightmares only seemed to grow worse, ever since…

However, what kept her from falling asleep that night was no nightmare.

Across the room from her, stood a shadowed figure, its body fading and flickering in the dark, only to pulsate and appear almost tangible once more before fading once again.

It was an endless cycle.

One that the child dared not to take her eyes off.

Out of fear.

Out of panic.

_Out of sorrow…_

She caught the faint glimpses of a face every once in a while. A face that held an air of familiarity to it, yet as she stared, the being never once looked at her. No, she (assuming it was _her_) seemed to be staring at nothing, hollow eyes dancing around the room. Long black hair weightlessly floated around her, wrapping around her face, casting shadowed veils.

"M-mum…?" the girl whimpered.

That was a mistake.

Her head whipped forward, eyes finally falling onto the child. Lightning struck, flashing light in the room. Her face contorted with each flash, smooth features warping into a pained expression. Her face reddened, some areas crisp and black, flaky. Empty sockets for eyes.

Suddenly, the room went dark again, and, just as suddenly, she looked normal once more.

Her mouth moved, gapping like a fish out of water.

_Don't let them know you see them…_

A voice, soft, echoed in the child's head. She flinched at the sudden intrusion, yet she still dared not close her eyes.

"Wh-wha-"

Suddenly, the apparition of her mother charged forward, causing the girl to scream.

_Don't let them know you see them!_

The voice in her head was deafening. She scooted back, legs kicking off the blanket, but she had nowhere to go as black swarmed her vision. She waved her arms about her as if she were trying to shoo the being away. Finally, she squeezed her eyes shut.

_Go away… Please go away…_

Light flooded past her eyelids, and her eyes popped open. Looking up, wisps of her dark hair fell into her face. The door to her room was open, and an elderly man had his head poked inside. His fingers rested on the light switch. His brows were furrowed, eyes shining in concern.

"Is everything alright, Quinn?" he asked, but she didn't answer him. Not even when he stepped inside the room. She hadn't spoken to anyone since her arrival merely two weeks ago. She didn't notice the messy tuff of raven black hair that lingered behind the elderly man. "You can tell me."

No, instead, she looked frantically around the room. There were no signs of her mother. As if she were banished by the light. It wasn't until she noticed the bed shift did she look back at the old man.

Her body never once stopped shaking, her dainty knees drawing close to her chest. He stared into her wide eyes, her trembling lower lip.

"Miss Hayes," came a new voice, quiet. Both man and child turned back to the door. A boy, barely in his teens, with a mane of untamable raven hair slumped against the door frame. His lanky body was hidden by the over-sized white shirt and baggy jeans. He pressed his thumb against his bottom lip, nibbling on the nail as onyx eyes lingered on her.

She sniffled, wiping at her nose with the sleeve of her nightgown.

"I was on my way to the kitchen for some shortcake. I've been craving some for some time now. Would you like to come with me?"

She just stared at the boy, his tired gaze a mirror of her own. She didn't answer.

The old man sighed, shifting to stand up with a long, drawn-out sigh once it became evident that she wasn't going to respond. "Come along, L. Let's leave her be." He motioned for the boy to follow, but he stood firm, watching.

Watching until she gave the slightest of nods. The corners of his mouth quirked ever so slightly, even more so when she slid out of the bed. Her nightgown fell to her knees, brushing against her skin as she walked towards both men, tentatively glancing around the room once more.

Just in case her mother lingered just around the corner.


	2. Chapter 1

Something wasn't right. That much was certain.

A young man made his way to the alter of a long-abandoned church, lightly stirring up dust that had settled on the floor, following a set of footprints that recently trekked down the aisle. He pulled the black facemask tucked under his chin over his mouth and nose, several strands of his unruly sandy blond hair catching between the elastic and his fair skin. Cobwebs fluttered gently about the air as he passed the worn pews.

Gray-blue eyes, hidden behind a pair of comically large framed, red specks, flitted about, catching glimpses of fleeting shadows that lingered just beyond his line of sight. Teasing him with subtlest of peeks. Just enough to keep him on his toes.

What should have felt like a holy and peaceful presence, as with most churches he's visited across the world, was completely drowned out by an overly dark and vile feel to the air. It was suffocating, wafting and invading his very being, filling him with an uneasy apprehension.

He continued to follow the footprints as they lead to a pair of doors that exited the sanctuary. A hallway, with several doors on each side. Offices, the largest most likely belonging to the previous pastor. There were still books that laid on the shelves in a bookshelf. Only a few. Any more and the worn piece of furniture would most likely topple over.

If he were to pick them up, surely, they would crumble…

Turning the corner, there were stairs. Leading most likely to the attic.

His destination, for sure.

That was where he felt his very being pulled forward, a sort of compulsion, one he spent years fighting against having been thrown out the window, beckoning his feet to move. Perhaps it was the sense of dread that lingered in the air that prompted such a lack of self-control.

Letting out a soft breath, he began to climb the stairs, ignoring that annoying feeling of dread that continued to smolder him. He wasn't doing a very good job at that. He reached out with gloved hands, trembling rather furiously, and he grasped at the railing. Both to help hoist him up the stairs and quell his shaking hands.

In all his uneasy life, he had never felt anything like this.

Hell, not even that one time he visited a small town in California, where he had met a short-order cook who went by the name of Odd (he certainly lived up to his namesake), whose abilities struck an uncanny resemblance to the blond. He claimed that he was trying to stop some man whose hair resembled some kind of mold from opening a literal portal to hell. That was a terrifying time.

But that's another story for another time.

He neared the door that sat at the top of the stairs, painted a dulled maroon with the paint chipping away and onto the ground. As he drew closer to the door, he noticed two things.

One, that this was very poorly laid out, the design of the church, I mean. The walls of the stairway were so narrow, he couldn't believe that anything could be maneuvered up the stairs and into the attic with relative ease.

Second, whatever was behind this door was surely the heart of this gloomy presence. Its resonating aura all but burnt the boy as he reached for the bronze doorknob. Which was odd, since it was rather cold inside and outside the church.

As soon as his hand wrapped around the doorknob, his unease only continued to grow, gradually growing into a fear he had not known for a long time. He wasn't one to be easily scared. When you see the dead all day every day, you kind of become calloused to anything that would be remotely frightening. Especially when spirits tend to pop in during the most inopportune and hindering moments…

Any normal person would just turn away and not bother with this. They would leave and not give a second thought. Of course, if one were normal, would they be in this situation to begin with? Would they be heading straight towards the very thing that was giving them the heebie-geebies?

Some people, probably.

Some people had a better sense of self-preservation than others.

He was not one of the latter.

The door should have been locked. The knob should not have been able to turn with the subtlest twist of his wrist. The church itself should have been locked. It should have been, but it wasn't. Now, he could write that off as a few delinquent children breaking in, which wasn't too far-fetched of an idea. Graffiti littered the walls, after all.

His brows furrowed as the doorknob twisted without a problem. Now was not the time for any sort of hesitation. So, with a deep breath, he pushed.

And pushed.

And pushed.

The door didn't move; something was pressed against it, he presumed.

_Curious._

If the door was supposed to lock, which it was since there was a keyhole, it most likely would have been locked. That raised another series of questions. If it was unlocked, how did it get blocked? Did something fall?

Or was it intentional? To keep anyone from entering?

If that was the case, that was a minor issue. He usually found a way to get where he wanted, one way or another.

His jaw tightened as his lips pursed together into a thin line, a soft grumble sounding from him as he pressed his shoulders against the wooden door. With a surprisingly feminine grunt, he slammed himself into the door as hard as he could, one of his hands keeping the knob twisted. The door didn't budge much, but he was a persistent and determined soul, never one to be easily yielded. He continued to drive his small and lithe body into the stubborn door, each time the door inched open and scraped against the floor until he heard a loud crash on the other side.

Blinking in idle curiosity, he peeked inside, there being only enough room to poke his head through the cracked door. Thank God for the mask he wore, because the dust in the air, sent flying from the small shelf that had previously propped against the door having toppled over, would have been terrible.

It took a few more strained pushes to move the fallen piece of furniture until it couldn't move anymore, giving him just enough space to slip through the opening into the room.

Reaching into the shoulder slung bag he carried, he brandished a flashlight, switching it on. He looked around, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the knuckle of a slender finger.

This was the source of evil he had been drowning in. It was a feeling he couldn't quite understand, it was so new.

His eyes soon landed on what he was sure he was looking for, which only confused him even more.

The slowly swaying form of a woman, hanging from the rafters above… Her eyes, he couldn't tell the color of, were bugged out and bloodshot. Her neck was bruised and bent at an odd angle that caused him to cringe, most likely broken. Dried tears and drool could be seen staining her pale skin. Strands of black hair fell into her face, sticking to her dried saliva and blending into the black leather jacket she wore…

_So… This is her,_ he thought as he watched the mirrored spectral image of the woman float past him and to her swaying body. _Why did her spirit bring me here?_

Why, indeed.

Suicide victims never stayed behind. They never sought help. That, or they never came to him.

She stared up at herself, casting glances his way every so often. He blinked before huffing a sigh. "Fine," he grumbled. After some maneuvering, he was able to remove the noose from around her neck. He laid her on the ground, and he reached down with mild irritation, ignoring the fact that he was about to manhandle a dead woman's bloated body. It was for identification purposes, so it needed to be done.

"Aha!" he breathed, pulling out her wallet from her back pocket. He opened it and saw an American license. The fact that it wasn't a Japanese license was very curious, though not so much so that he was hung up on it. _Naomi Misora_. That was her name.

He looked up at her spirit, who was staring back down at her body.

"Naomi?"

Her gaze snapped up upon hearing her name, her hair whipping at her face before it returned to floating about once more.

"Why did you bring me here?" he questioned, pushing himself up to his feet and brushing dust from his pants.

_Kira…_

That wasn't what he had been expecting. "Kira? Were you killed by Kira?" She nodded. He cupped his chin, brows furrowing even more. "I thought Kira only killed with heart attacks?" That wasn't too crazy of an idea, though. I mean, Kira already proved that he was willing to kill innocents if they were getting in his way, or opposed him. Yes, while Lind L. Taylor was by no means an innocent, he was to Kira. If he could kill a person by not being remotely near them, who was to say he…

What if he could kill in other ways, not just a heart attack? To go further, what if he could control a person's very actions before they die?

Looking at Naomi, he got the suspicion that wasn't as far-fetched as he first thought. She didn't off herself on her own. As I said, suicide victims never came to him…

His eyes narrowed as he looked at Naomi once more. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

_Tell… L…_

He blinked rapidly, eyes widening.

_There is something I have to do… To tell L…_

"Is it that Kira can control people's actions before they die? Because L is way smarter than I am." That was a bit of a pain to admit. "I'm quite certain he's already figured that out."

Naomi stretched out a hand, floating closer to the blond. His eyes narrowed when he realized what she was about to do, and he took a step back. "No," he hissed, tensing in apprehension. "Don't touch me!" She ignored his decline, closing the distance even further. He whirled on his feet to run down the stairs, only to scream and stumble back. His rear hit the floor, barely tripping over the body behind him.

Naomi blocked the door, her hand so close to his face. He flinched as her fingers brushed against his skin, though he couldn't feel her touch as his eyes rolled in the back of his head, a loud gasp escaping his lips as he fell back.

The world around him warped and twisted, growing gray with streaks of light flitting by at high speeds. Naomi disappeared, and he picked himself up. Time seemed slow, mere seconds lingering on forever. Bodies passed, nothing more than faceless blobs. Suddenly, a force drove his body forward, as if he had been hit by a semi-truck, until he saw a man sitting in a chair. The only man with a face. One he knew all too well. Raven hair and onyx eyes, the only emotion shining in them was boredom, stared at him, mouth moving yet no sound could be heard.

His dark eyes widened, and suddenly, the blond felt a sharp pain in his chest, as if someone were squeezing his heart with all their might. One that took his breath away. One that brought him back to his knees. His hand clutched at his chest, fingers digging into the thick jacket.

He let out a series of pained gasps, struggling to look up as the dark-haired man fell out of his chair, falling to the floor, life slowly leaving his eyes.

The blond struggled to push himself from the ground, fighting the pain as he stumbled to run closer to the falling man.

_**BA-dumph!**_

"Ah!" Another sharp stab at his chest, bringing him to his knees once more, his breathing growing ragged, sparse. His chin hit the floor just as someone caught the dark-haired man, another faceless body.

His vision grew blurry, the unmistakable sound of laughter filling the air.

He huffed, reaching out a hand, trying to weakly grasp at the two people before him Reaching for the man with onyx eyes. His hand fell back to the ground, letting out a single whispered word that came out more so as a whimper.

"L…"

* * *

He shot up from the ground, gasping for air and clutching at his chest with both hands. His sandy blond hair was in quite a disarray, and there were even slight peeks of black tresses curling out from under the blond wig. Sweat layered his skin, and he couldn't seem to get a grip on his breathing.

He looked around, no signs of Naomi Misora, save for her bloated body laying behind him.

Sighing, he picked himself up, wincing as his whole body ached. "That didn't feel too good," he muttered to her body, reaching in his pocket for his phone.

He dialed the number to the Japanese Police Task Force.

He could hear the phone ring not even two times before a tired man answered. _"Special Investigation Headquarters for the criminal victims' murder case."_

"Is this where I call with information about the Kira case?"

* * *

It was late, yet even though it was at a God awful hour, in a hotel room dimly light by multiple T.V. monitors were three men busy at work. Two sat in front of said T.V. screens while the third was tucked away in a corner, furiously typing away at his laptop. The youngest of the three, a man with untamable black hair and onyx eyes, was sitting in a rather comfortable looking chair in an exceedingly uncomfortable position next to an older gentleman.

"After dinner, your son just goes back to his room, studying, without even turning on the T.V. or his computer?" the raven-haired man questioned, poking at his lips with his thumb, pushing the bottom over the top. The Yagami household seemed far too innocent to him; as if it were staged.

Not that there was concrete proof over that statement. He just felt it in his gut. The probability of Kira living there was up to seven point three percent.

Chief Yagami nodding his head, reaching up to rub one of his strained eyes, red and tired from staring at the bright screens in the dark, with a sigh. No doubt, this was taxing for him, to know that his family was under suspicion. "Entrance exams… They're less than ten days from now, I believe."

L hummed quietly to himself, sparing a glance at the chief for a brief moment. _Entrance exams, huh?_

"Ryuzaki?" L looked up, seeing Watari hovering over him with a cellphone in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. "There is a caller I am quite certain you would want to speak with." He held the phone out for him to take.

L took the phone from Watari. "Thank you," he said softly, bringing the phone to his ear. The old man nodded, setting the piece of paper beside his prodigy's chair, who promptly picked it up, lazily looking it over. "This is Suzuki speaking, head of the information processing unit." Hmmm… A bank owner suspected of embezzlement and a purse snatcher had just died of a heart attack. Light had no access to that information, L knew that. But… It still seemed way too… "Please, go ahead."

_"We need to talk."_ That voice… _"Naomi Misora is dead."_

"I am already aware of Miss Misora's disappearance and possible death. Unfortunately, neither have anything to do with the Kira investigation."

_"It would if she had been killed by Kira."_

The genius detective arched a brow at that. "Well, yes… But until her body is found, that is mere-"

_"I found it."_

"Go to the police then. They are the ones who're looking for it. Even if it comes back that she had a heart attack, there's not much we can use."

_"You don't know?"_ A sigh. _"There's plenty you could use. She committed suicide."_

"You are aware of the FBI agents who recently passed, correct? One of them was her fiance."

_"So she hung herself because her lover was killed by Kira? You can't tell me that you believe that, _L._" _So it was her. _"I know better. Besides, with my… talents… You know it's never been suicide victims that seek me. She was murdered."_

L poured a cup of tea, slowly adding sugar cube by cube, as he mulled over this information. This news was confirming his suspicions that Kira could kill in ways other than a heart attack.

_"You know damn well what I would do if yo-"_ Another sigh. He sipped loudly at his tea, waiting. _"L…"_

"Yes, Miss Hayes? Or whatever moniker you are going by nowadays." Watari couldn't help the small grin that hid behind his mustache before he returned his attention to his laptop.

_"It's Adrian Miles at the moment."_ She was silent. Then she said something that surprised even him.

_"Please be careful, L."_


	3. Chapter 2

He appeared to the world as a star student should. He did utter a single word unless propriety absolutely demanded it. He didn't move. He did nothing that would paint him out of the ordinary. Even as that damn shinigami yelled in his ears. He remained… perfect as he trekked home.

He tried to clear his mind, attempting to tackle the situation logically. However, no matter what he concluded, whatever scenario he conjured, none would lead to any good. He was stuck, trapped, like a starving dog backed into a corner, the catcher's net closing in on him.

Even as he entered his home. Even as his younger sister greeted him, chipper as usual.

Light stayed calm, no inclination of any turmoil save for the crescent-shaped indentions in his palms.

_"The identity of the body that had been found in an old, abandoned church just days ago has been released. A Japanese woman, Naomi Misora, was discovered by a party who wishes to remain anonymous."_ Light paused in his tracks, hovering at the stairs, just out of Sayu's sight as he listened to the broadcast. _"It is, as of right now, unclear if it is suicide or murder, though sources are pointing to suicide. It is revealed that Misora is linked to one of the twelve FBI agents who recently di-"_

Light calmly continued his trek up the stairs, entering his room and coolly locking the door. It was then and only then did he begin to shake. Even more so as he neared his desk.

This was beginning to be a lot to take in. First, L, if that really was him. Now, this?!

He sat down, grinding his teeth together.

Ryuk floated by him, a finger drawn to his curled lips, in mild curiosity.

Light slammed his body into his desk, ignoring the ache of his stomach and elbows. His fingers curled in his chestnut hair, tugging at his scalp painfully. "DAMMIT!" he growled, cursing loudly, finally offering himself his temperamental outlet. Let loose. Throw his little tantrum. "Dammit, dammitdammitdammit!" With the cameras gone, he was free enough to have that little courtesy.

His little outburst had managed to even startle Ryuk (which wasn't an easy feat, mind you), who stumbled back with widened eyes. "Ah, Light?"

"He got me! Dammit, he got me!"

The shinigami blinked, tilting his gruesome, spiky-haired, head, his lips pursing over his sharp teeth. "Uh… What do yo-"

Light slammed his fists onto the desktop, which silenced the God of Death while knocking a cup of pens over. Some rolled onto the floor with soft clanks. "Damn L!" he continued, as if he hadn't of heard Ryuk. He was humiliated. Utterly humiliated. Not just L, but by that woman. Even in her grave, she was going to be a nuisance! A small one, yes, but still.

He was trapped. Trapped and he couldn't do a damn thing about it!

Oh-ho-ho… That L. He was crafty. A sneaky, crafty son of a bitch. Everything about that meeting was a trap!

The painfully obvious alias…

Putting himself out there as L.

Even if it wasn't L, if he made any move against him, all it would accomplish would be the tightening of the already forming noose around his neck even further! If Hideki Ryuga, this impostor or the idol, died after this meeting, he'd be announcing to the world, to the police force, that he was Kira. He would be doomed…

His eyes peeked over his arms, flitting over to the screen of his computer. They narrowed.

He just needed to wait…

Wait and get as close as possible to this Ryuga. Get him to talk. Get him to trust him. He was after his friendship, and Light was more than willing to use his companionship as a pawn.

Ryuga's approach only proved that they had nothing on him. Absolutely nothing. This was just a desperate attempt to get under his skin.

A weight lifted from his shoulders. Only for another to fall in its place.

Naomi.

Her body…

It was supposed to have not been found. He had specified it in the notebook.

It should of…

* * *

The very same man who seemed to be troubling the mind of a young genius was lazily making his way to his hotel room, escorted by an elderly man who had his coat draped over a folded arm. The floor was empty, him having paid quite a pretty penny for his need for privacy.

It was turning out to be a semi-good day. Even though he had shown his face -twice now- to his prime suspect, which was not ideal, to say the least, he had managed to ruffle a few feathers. He hid it well, Light did, but the subtlest twitch of his eyes, a single muscle in his jaw tightening.

Of course, these weren't enough to solidify his suspicions, but still.

While he and Watari approached his room, the older man walked a wee bit faster before reaching the door to open for the lanky man, who merely uttered a quiet "thank you" as he entered the room.

He was so deep in thought as he made his way over to the sofa, his laptop open and dim, he nearly missed the pleasant little surprise that was next to his laptop. A plate. More importantly, on the plate was a generous slice of shortcake, fresh strawberries sinking deep into pillowed cream that ran down the sides.

Nearly missed it.

It took him all of three seconds to tear himself from his thoughts to hone his eyes on the dessert. And it took only a second more for his eyes to land on the fork that was absentmindedly prodding at the cake, following the silver handle, catching sight of delicate fingers that held it. His dark eyes continued to travel up the arm until they landed on the face of a young man.

Sandy blond hair, lightly tousled, framed a delicate face, the tips tickling soft, thin lips. Pale blue eyes, almost gray at a passing glance, peered over thick, red-framed glasses, meeting his onyx gaze.

"Miss Hayes." L reached forward, casually plucking the fork from his grasp. Since his spot on the sofa was currently occupied, he promptly tucked himself in the chair adjacent to the sofa. A long arm reached over, retrieving the plate and rested it on his knees. "Apologies. I mean, _Mr. Miles_. What are you doing here?" he asked, slowly shoveling a bite of the cake into his mouth, watching the blond. His eyes traveled over his attire, offering the smallest inclinations of his head as he curiously stared. "And why do you insist on wearing these silly disguises?"

An exasperated sigh flooded past the boy's lips when L took the cake before he reached up. Fingers curled into the thick, blond locks, only to give a soft tug. Long tresses of black hair fell around him, or should I say _her_, spilling from the wig, curtaining her shoulders. She removed her glasses, folding them and placing them on the table.

"The same reason you insist on keeping your face hidden from the world. And I'm here because I thought it would be nice to share some shortcake." Onyx eyes stared at her, most unamused. "Watari invited me."

Quinn leaned forward, taking the fork from L's hand and stealing a bit of the cake. Mainly to irritate the raven-haired detective. He didn't seem too terribly fazed by it, however. She placed the fork on the plate, and he returned to eating it, no qualms whatsoever.

"Why?"

"Because I asked him to."

L cast a glance over at the old man, who was busy preparing a pot of tea for him and his unexpected guest, blatantly ignoring L's gaze. He was going to have to speak with him about this later.

"Again, why?"

Quinn stared at him, her eyes flitting about his face, the corners of her lips tightening as her already fair cheeks paled. A single tremble of her lip caught his attention, though it was quelled by her finger pressing to her lips. "I'd like to help with the Kira investigation," she announced as Watari placed a tray holding a teapot and two teacups on the table, right in front of L.

He reached a pale hand forward, pouring a cup and scooted it across the table towards Quinn. "I don't believe your area of expertise would be beneficial to my investigation," he said calmly, pouring himself a cup. He started dropping several sugar cubes into the steaming liquid, watching as they dissolved away.

Quinn reached for the cup of tea he had offered her, beckoning for him to pass her the cream. He did so, watching her closely as he tasted his. It needed more sugar. "How would it not?" she countered, her spoon clanking softly against the dainty porcelain. "I would argue that this case falls right into my area of expertise. To a degree." She took a sip. "You believe that Kira can kill people with just a name and a face."

"How did you know that?"

"Your laptop was open? But that's not important. Clearly, there is something supernatural going on. You _need_ me."

"I've been fairing well enough without you. Or your talents."

"…"

Quinn placed her cup back down on the table.

"So, is that you're way of telling me no?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Yes, you have." Quinn crossed her arms, brows furrowing. She looked away, avoiding both men's gaze. "You can keep the cake," she grumbled, picking herself from the sofa. She snatched the blond wig, fixing her hair so that she could put it back on.

"Miss Hayes."

Quinn ignored him, shoving her glasses on her face.

"Miss Hayes," L repeated, though she continued to ignore him, making her way to the door. She could hear a sigh and several clanks of porcelain.

She reached for the doorknob only for a shadow to be cast over her and the door. A hand pressed against the door as she started to open it, promptly shutting it. "Quinn!" His voice had grown momentarily harsh when he called out her name. She turned, momentarily taken aback, but made no attempts to move away. L towered over her, his elbow resting against the door. Stray strands of his unkempt hair threatened to tickle her forehead. Dark eyes bore into hers. "You've never been so quick to yield." He leaned even closer, and this time, she did take a step back, her body pressing into the door. He studied her. His gaze made her feel vulnerable. Naked. She never quite grew out of hating it. "Have I upset you so?"

Quinn huffed, fixing her glasses. "I'm not yielding. I plan on working on the case, one way or another. With you or without you, _L_." Her eyes narrowed into a glare. "Seeing as how you don't want me wor-"

"You will refer to me as Ryuzaki from now on," he interrupted, pulling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. Quinn blinked in mild confusion. "If you are to be working on this case." Her eyes lit up as L walked towards the table to retrieve the slice of cake he had been eating. He shoveled another piece into his mouth, chewing loudly. "Of course, I don't have to remind you about the importance of keeping your identity a secret." Quinn nodded. "Good. Please pick an alias to stick with for the time being. My only request is that you don't wear your silly little disguises." He licked at a spot of cream that lingered at the corner of his mouth. "I would very much prefer the company of Quinn Hayes over Adrian Miles."

_It was turning out to be a really good day, indeed._


End file.
